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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27395758">Indiana Joe and the Sword of the First Crusader</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLittleLo/pseuds/Lolo'>Lolo (TheLittleLo)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Old Guard (Movie 2020)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Adventure, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - 1930s, Alternate Universe - Indiana Jones Fusion, Archeologist/doctor/professor/all around badass Joe, Booby Traps, Bull whips, Fight Scenes, I'm sure I'll add tags as we go, Indiana jones inspired hijinks, Joe is really cool, M/M, My whims are entirely at the mercy of fan artists in this fandom, Not quite enemies to lovers...., POV Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani, Plup, So. despite having ZERO artistic ability myself, Things to expect:, but also he's not an asshole to women like ACTUAL Indy, but like Rivals to Lovers???, hence: this fic, professor/linguist/hey wait I didn't sign up for this I just want to stay home with my books Nicky</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 20:26:59</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,075</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27395758</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLittleLo/pseuds/Lolo</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The al-Kaysani family has a closely guarded secret that they have passed down through the generations, one they have entrusted to Joe. With the discovery of a mysterious sword and the location of an ancient tomb within Joe's grasp, he'll have to use all his wits, guile and yes his trusty bullwhip to figure out the secrets of his ancestors' past.<br/>He might even find love along the way.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>143</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>310</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. The Book of Scythia</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Much like the Indiana Jones movies, we’re playing fast and loose with what actual archaeologists do. Also, with how one would handle artifacts- Indiana Jones is a fantasy and we’re keeping that alive here lol<br/>Just sit back and have fun, yeah?</p><p>I was of course inspired by all the lovely Indiana Joe artwork that happened over the last few weeks and I couldn't help myself! Namely the work by <a href="https://ashleyrguillory.tumblr.com/post/632813165321895936/im-obsessed-with-indiana-joe-so-i-had-to-redraw">Ashley</a>, <a href="https://luminarai.tumblr.com/post/632775054627913728/okay-but-like-joe-being-a-reverse-indiana-jones">Luminari</a>, and <a href="https://angels-and-aliens.tumblr.com/post/633078689097203712/every-day-i-wake-up-and-think-of-the-indiana">Angels-and-aliens</a></p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>  </b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>Somewhere outside Medinine, French Protectorate of Tunisia, 1936</b>
</p><p> </p><p>“When you asked if I wanted to come on a research trip with you-” Nile grunted. Joe felt her push off his shoulders and watched her disappear as she pulled herself fully up over the ledge. Enough time passed that Joe was about to ask if she was alright, when her head popped back into sight,  “-this is not what I had in mind.”</p><p>Joe scoffed and rolled his eyes. “What? Did you think we traveled over 1300 miles to sit in a stuffy library pouring over books?”</p><p>He grabbed the bullwhip off his hip and tossed the handle up to Nile.</p><p>“We could have done that at the university.” Joe tested the whip; he trusted Nile would be able to hold his weight, she was stronger than she looked. His voice strained as he started the climb, “No- A research trip with me is a little more hands on.”</p><p>“I’d heard rumors, though I didn’t expect them to be true, you know how gossip travels at a school.”</p><p>“Unfortunately,” Joe grunted.</p><p>He got his upper body over the top of the ledge and rolled onto his back. Nile chuckled at him sprawled out as she dusted off her trousers.</p><p>“This was a lot easier in my twenties,” Joe said.</p><p>“You’re 33.”</p><p>“Which is, in fact, not my twenties.”</p><p>Nile rolled her eyes and looked around the upper part of the antechamber. “So where does your riddle-” </p><p>“Poem.”</p><p>“-Sorry, <em> poem, </em> say we should go next?” </p><p>Joe got to his feet and looked around the space himself. Light from the surface was streaming down through a small fissure in the ground above. Every so often the wind would blow hard enough to create a low hollowing sound as it passed over the opening, and a stream of sand would fall down into the chamber. </p><p>The chamber itself was long and thin, and led back the way they came. Up on the newly accessed ledge, there were three cave openings, each one appearing to lead deeper underground. </p><p>“Well,” Joe said, putting his hands on his hips, “I suppose we pick a cave and hope we’re correct.”</p><p>“Are you serious? You said you knew exactly what to expect in here, that the <em> poem </em> was very clear.”</p><p>“I did say that, didn’t I?” Joe removed his hat and ran a hand through his sweat-soaked hair. “The problem is that while the poem was very specific, it was in French. Now, French is a lovely language but it’s very different from the Arabic I suspect it was originally translated from, and that is only if we are extremely lucky. It would make the most sense, given the location of this cave and the time period in which we suspect the cache was hidden down here, that the poem was originally composed in a Berber language, before being translated to Arabic, and then French.”</p><p>“Which means?”</p><p>“In short? I don’t know where to go next.”</p><p>“Well- This has certainly been a trip for biscuits,” Nile said with a defeated sigh.</p><p>“Who said we’re out yet?”</p><p>“You said there could be traps! I’m not going down there without some sort of map or plan.”</p><p>“And I wouldn’t ask you to. Just hold down the fort up here, I’ll be back before you know it.”</p><p>Nile looked unconvinced, but she didn’t object or move to follow him when he walked to the entrance of the central tunnel. He set down his pack, pulled out a torch and lit it. Holding it up to the oppressive darkness did little to reveal the tunnel's secrets before he was practically on top of them, but at least Joe could be relatively sure he wouldn’t walk off the edge of a cliff.</p><p>The tunnel had a gentle slope, but it did not deviate right or left, giving Joe hope that this tunnel had been the right choice. Surely such an intentional tunnel would lead him to what he sought- what he’d been seeking for years.</p><p>Fifteen minutes passed before there was a slight change in the makeup of the tunnel. It began to level out and widened out from him until he could no longer see the ceiling or walls of the passage. There appeared to be a pinprick of light ahead of him and he stopped walking. He strained his eyes against the competing light of the torch, but it was no use so he shoved the top of the torch down into the ground, snuffing out the light.</p><p>The minute it took for Joe’s eyes to adjust seemed to drag on forever. The light ahead of him grew slightly brighter, and he realized that without the bright fire from the torch he could actually see most of the cave.</p><p>The light itself appeared to be a single ray of light coming from the ceiling and illuminating a well polished golden idol. It was not what Joe had been expecting, but he supposed an ancient idol was as good as anything to return with. Certainly his investors only cared about having another shiny artifact to put on display.</p><p>Joe walked toward the idol. He reasoned he would grab this now and hopefully be able to find what he was looking for down one of the other-</p><p>
  <em> Click </em>
</p><p>Joe had enough time to look down at his feet in surprise and swear before the ground dropped out from beneath him and he was falling.</p><p>He landed on his back and his head snapped back into the ground with a sickening crack. He lay where he landed for a moment, stunned and groaning. It had been only a second or two of falling, so Joe was pretty sure he hadn’t broken anything. He confirmed that theory by sitting up and rubbing the back of his head. He didn’t feel the wetness of blood, but his head throbbed and he felt a bump forming.</p><p>The chamber he had landed in was much smaller than the one above him. It seemed to be lit by the same strange golden glow as the previous room, though he could not see its source.</p><p>The room had a small tunnel leading out of it, back the same direction as the one he had come from, probably one of the other tunnels leading back to where Nile was waiting. On the floor an arms length away from where Joe had landed was a nondescript chest. </p><p>Joe’s head was still swimming slightly from the fall, perhaps that was why he hadn’t noticed a continued soft clicking ever since he had first stepped on the trap above. Joe stood up slowly, trying to figure out where the clicking was coming from.</p><p>The clicking stopped, and for one stupid moment Joe thought maybe nothing would come of it.</p><p>A rumble rose from under Joe, and a moment later he felt the earth beneath his feet begin to tremble.</p><p>“Just once-” Joe started. He sprang into action, snatched up the chest without a second thought and sprinted for the tunnel exit. Joe yelled to nobody in particular, “just once I’d like to find an artifact and simply walk away with it!” </p><p>Joe felt a rush of wind encase him from behind, and he tasted dust and stale water on the air. He heard the room he had just left collapse and then the sound of rushing water drown out every other sense. Running into the dark of an unknown tunnel was less than ideal, but Joe didn’t exactly have a choice and taking his chances with the flooding room behind him was definitely not something he wanted to deal with.</p><p>Slowly, the rush of water faded into a dull roar, and Joe felt like he could walk instead of running through the dark.</p><p>The tunnel did indeed lead upward, if at a bit harsher of an incline than the passage he had used on the way down. It had a few more twists than the previous tunnel and Joe stumbled blindly into the wall more than once as he walked through the dark, chest in hand. This was much more difficult without a torch. It wasn’t long though before he could see a light at the end of the tunnel.</p><p>“Mitt me, kid!” Joe exclaimed as he stumbled back into the relatively bright light of the antechamber.</p><p>Nile was leaning against the wall of the cave. She jumped at the sound of his voice, but when she turned and saw Joe her face lit up.</p><p>“No-” Nile started, the awe clear in her voice, “you found it?”</p><p>“I found something.”</p><p>Joe set the rusted chest down on the floor and crouched in front of it. The lock on it was equally weathered, and it broke off with surprisingly little pressure. Inside, among yellowed and crumbling bits of parchment, was a single rectangular parcel wrapped in thin leather.</p><p>Carefully, Joe plucked the bundle out of the chest, trying in vain to steady his hand as his breath caught with anticipation. He set the package down on the ground and began to unwrap it.</p><p>“Oh my gosh, Joe-” Nile’s voice trailed off.</p><p>“Booker is going to have a heart attack.”</p><p>“Is this-” Once again Nile’s question seemed to evaporate, but Joe knew what she was asking.</p><p>“Yeah,” Joe said as he finally peeled back the last piece of decayed leather. </p><p>“The Book of Scythia,” Joe and Nile said together.</p><p>Nile gasped behind him, then everything went black.</p><p> </p><p>---</p><p> </p><p>The first thing Joe noticed as he came back to consciousness was that his wrists were bound behind his back. The second was that he was sitting on the ground, and third, his legs were also bound. Joe was a generally optimistic person, but even he couldn’t deny he was probably in a less than satisfactory situation.</p><p>He heard a low laugh definitely not belonging to Nile, but when he attempted to raise his head up from where it lulled against his chest, his head swam and he let out a groan.</p><p>“Ah-” A low, strangely familiar voice said, “welcome back to the land of the living Dr. al-Kaysani.”</p><p>Joe’s brain was quickly catching up to the present. He knew that voice.</p><p>“Keane? What brings you here?” Joe said, as he finally managed to right his head.</p><p>Keane was crouched in front of him, blocking his view of pretty much anything else.</p><p>“My job, same as you, Indy.”</p><p>“Don’t call me that,” Joe said automatically, before adding, “I do believe there are a few key differences between our methods.” Joe tugged pointedly at the ropes behind his back while he kept his eyes locked with Keane’s.</p><p>“Work smarter, not harder, my friend.” Keane said. He picked Joe’s hat up off the ground and cramped it forcefully onto Joe’s head, “and you certainly did a lot of hard work here today, so thank you for that.”</p><p>Joe scowled at Keane, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of admitting he had been outsmarted. Joe was more concerned with where Nile was at that moment. If they had harmed her- Joe could think of a few creative ways to make Keane pay.</p><p>Keane narrowed his eyes back at Joe for a moment, but he blinked and his face returned to something more resembling the cock-sure asshole that Joe was used to dealing with. He held something close to Joe’s face. It took a moment for Joe’s eyes to adjust, but he knew what Keane was holding even before they did.</p><p>“The Book of Scythia,” Keane said, turning the book around, examining it. “How many years have you obsessed over it? Laughed out of Oxford for refusing to abandon your search. A rumor, a tall tale, and yet- right here in my hand.”</p><p>Keane moved so suddenly, Joe couldn’t help but yelp as he grabbed Joe’s shirt and tugged him in closer.</p><p>“Tell me, do you think your colleagues at the university will believe that this trip was worth the money they gave you when you return home empty handed?”</p><p>Joe jerked backward out of Keane’s grasp. He still said nothing, but kept his eyes trained on Keane, refusing to break eye contact. Keane stared back at him with pure vitriol, before his unstable mood shifted back to something resembling elatation.</p><p>“Don’t worry Dr. al-Kaysani, I’m sure we’ll see each other again.” Keane said. He knocked the brim of Joe’s hat down so it covered his eyes. He heard a muffled groan as something -or someone- hit the sand in front of him. Joe listened to the sound of retreating footsteps until they faded into the wind.</p><p>“Nile?” Joe asked. He twisted his wrists, searching for a weakness in the ropes. It was a sloppy knot, he knew it would give soon enough.</p><p>“I’m here.” </p><p>“Are you hurt?”</p><p>“No, no, I’m fine. Just- just pissed off.”</p><p>Joe huffed out a laugh, and with a final twist he was able to tug his hand free from the ropes. He tilted his hat up before freeing his other hand. Nile was sitting crossed legged in front of him. He could almost mistake her body language as that of boredom if not for the fact that her hands were tied behind her back. Joe freed his feet and moved on to free Nile. Once free, she rubbed her wrists, they looked red.</p><p>“How long was I out?” Joe asked. He removed his hat and turned around on the spot, nothing but sand in every direction.</p><p>“A half hour, maybe forty five minutes,” Nile said. She walked up to stand next to Joe and asked, “who was that?”</p><p>“Keane. A British archaeologist, works for a man named Merrick, this isn’t the first time we’ve met on a job.”</p><p>“I don’t like him.”</p><p>“No one does,” Joe said with an empty laugh. He sighed and began following what he assumed were Keane’s footprints. “Come on, little river, if we start walking now we might make it back to  Medinine by morning.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Genoese Gall</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Booker has some exciting news and Joe meets a frazzled Italian professor.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>University of Amsterdam, Netherlands, 1937</b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The lettering on Joe’s office door read </span>
  <em>
    <span>Dr. Yusuf al-Kaysani</span>
  </em>
  <span>, but no one called him that. He was </span>
  <em>
    <span>Joe</span>
  </em>
  <span> to his students and colleagues, and </span>
  <em>
    <span>Indiana </span>
  </em>
  <span>or </span>
  <em>
    <span>Indy </span>
  </em>
  <span>to his academic rivals -though that was more of a snide remark on his history- and sometimes to his closest friends. Even then, he hated the nickname and was constantly trying to put a stop to it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Indy!” Sebastien, or Booker, a professor of linguistics at the university called out as he pushed open the door to his office harshly. The window where Joe’s name was painted rattled. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Please don’t call me that, Booker,” Joe said, not looking up from his research. His glasses were slipping down his nose.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Says the creator of my own superfluous </span>
  <em>
    <span>surnom</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Sebastien said, over accentuating his barely there French accent, and sat down in the chair on the other side of Joe’s desk with a heavy thud.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Joe looked up at Booker over the top of his glasses. He was reclining across from him  apparently without a care in the world. As Joe watched him, Booker pulled out a hip flask and took a swig, and when he caught Joe’s glare, he offered him the flask. Joe rolled his eyes and went back to combing through a first hand account of the Siege of Antioch for references to Italian Knights.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Booker cleared his throat, upon which Joe put his pen down and tossed his glasses down on his book.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did you need something, Sebastien?” Joe asked, emphasizing the use of Booker’s real name.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Me? No, no, not a thing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Joe sighed and reached for his glasses.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> might be interested in the latest news out of Italy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What news out of-” Joe started.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A friend of mine- a colleague, really. I’m not sure. At any rate, he’s a fellow linguaphile. He is actually who has been helping me translate those tablets you found in Nuuk last year- ”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Booker, does this story have a point? I have a lot of research to get through and a class that starts in fifteen minutes.” Joe was prepared to flee his own office if it meant getting Booker out of his hair.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, it does. A few months ago Nicolò made an offhand remark about some runes he was having trouble deciphering,” Booker said. He sat up slightly and a sly smile appeared on his face. “I inquired further, thought maybe I could help, and as it turns out the runes are on an eleventh century Italian longsword.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Joe perked up at that. Booker leaned forward and placed his elbow on Joe’s desk, his smile growing wider. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Naturally after hearing you prattle on about your familial quest for the better part of a decade I inquired after the sword,” Booker gestured at his breast pocket, “and I have just received some very interesting news.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Booker dramatically snatched a folded piece of paper out from inside his jacket. He opened the letter and began reading it aloud in Italian.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sebastien- The sword was indeed discovered near Tunis, how did you know? That alone would make it an interesting find, but the phrasing of the runes puzzles me exceedingly. They appear to be at once both describing an enemy and a lover, and speak of a curse or a destiny, I’m not sure which. The tenses don't make sense. I would love your help, in fact if you have the time I would be happy to host you here, it’s been too long, my friend. Awaiting your Reply, Nicolò.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Booker tossed the paper unceremoniously onto the desk, and Joe snatched it up immediately, rereading the words with his own eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Holy shit-” Joe started, eyes darting over the words for a third time. This was unbelievable, and entirely too specific to be unrelated.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My thoughts exactly, Indy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re going, right? Please tell me you’re going.” Joe said, handing the letter back to Booker, completely ignoring the use of </span>
  <em>
    <span>Indy.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” Booker said. He folded up the paper, and returned it to his breast pocket, “you are.”</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>University of Genoa, Italy</b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Joe looked down at the paper in his hands.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Nicolò di Genova</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span><br/>
</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>Rm. 1099</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Joe reconfirmed the room number and repeatedly muttered </span>
  <em>
    <span>ten ninety-nine </span>
  </em>
  <span>as he walked through the hall, watching the numbers go up on each door he passed. Joe’s stomach was twisted in knots, anticipation making him feel nauseous. This was the biggest break he’d had in his research since- well, since before he had been the one charged with researching it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He reached a door that read </span>
  <em>
    <span>1099</span>
  </em>
  <span> and sure enough, written just below the room number in looping script was </span>
  <em>
    <span>Professor Nicolò di Genova - Linguistics</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Joe tucked the paper into his pocket and took one small moment for himself. His entire body was tense, and he tried to relax. He took a deep breath and flexed his shoulders. It was hard to ignore that there was a very real possibility that something he had spent his whole life searching for -that his family had spent generations searching for- was in the room in front of him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Joe steadied himself and knocked. He couldn’t shake the feeling that his destiny was behind that door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A muffled voice called out something Joe couldn’t quite make out, but it sounded enough like </span>
  <em>
    <span>come in </span>
  </em>
  <span>that Joe tried the door, which opened freely, the latch appearing not to be in working condition.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The office itself -if you could call it that- was little more than a large broom cupboard as far as Joe could tell. He’d seen tombs bigger than this. Many, in fact. Joe was face to face with a rickety shelf that was overflowing with stacks of books.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Joe stepped into the room, and closed the door behind him with a soft click. He heard a crash and a muffled groan.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh- Hello?” Joe called out, peering around the side of the shelf.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes? Sorry- give me just one moment,” a strained voice with a thick Italian accent called out from somewhere deeper in the room.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you need any help?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, no. I’ve got it, thank you though. There’s a chair by my desk- you might need to move a few things off it though.” Another crash. “Make yourself at home.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Joe stepped around the oddly placed bookshelf to find that it was not in fact so oddly placed. Once he was taking in the entirety of the room, it actually made a small amount of sense. One wall of the small room had a number of bookshelves placed perpendicular to it. They were squeezed so close together it was a wonder anyone could reach the books shoved onto the shelves. The last of those bookshelves was what Joe had nearly walked into upon entering the room, placed just far enough away from the entrance that it wouldn’t be hit by the door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The opposite wall had a desk and two bookshelves pushed against it, taking up the entirety of the wall. A door in the back corner of the room was slightly ajar. If there was any sort of organization to the madness of the office, Joe couldn’t see it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Joe found the chair in question -at least he assumed he did, as it was the only one he could see- and removed a suit jacket and briefcase from it before sitting down. The space between the desk and the shelves sticking out from the opposite wall measured maybe three feet, but even that felt like a generous estimate when Joe had to squeeze his legs awkwardly under the desk to sit properly in the chair.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Joe was so taken aback by the state of the office that it was only once he was seated that he remembered why he had come. If this Professor di Genova’s description was to be believed, he was studying a sword Joe’s family had been searching for for centuries, and it could be in the room he was sitting in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Joe sat up stick straight in the chair and looked quickly around the room. He didn’t immediately see anything that resembled a sword, though it could have been tucked away any number of places in the chaos.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry about that. Keeping on top of this mess is a futile endeavor, though I try.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Joe turned to see who he assumed was Professor di Genova closing the door at the back of the room. He was wearing a dress shirt that had come untucked on one side, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His shaggy hair fell into his eyes, obscuring the top of a pair of large glasses that sat perched atop a strong nose. He was sporting facial hair that looked more like he hadn’t shaved in a week and a half than an actual intentional beard. In short, he matched his office quite well.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He approached Joe and stuck out his hand to offer a handshake. Joe attempted to stand, but the back of the chair hit the bookshelf behind him and he only succeeded in jamming the tops of his thighs into the underside of the desk. He fell back into the chair with a </span>
  <em>
    <span>omff. </span>
  </em>
  <span>He still managed to grasp the professor’s outstretched hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Joe winced from the bruises he could feel forming on his thighs. Professor di Genova didn’t seem to notice him grip his thighs, though, as he leaned back on the edge of his desk casually.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How can I help you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Joe looked up at the man who was now towering over him where he leaned. From this angle, his eyes were no longer obscured by his hair and Joe couldn’t help but notice the striking blue green color. Joe realized he was staring and blinked a few times, still rubbing the tops of his legs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hi. Yes- ow. Sorry. You’re Nicolò, right? My name is Yusuf al-Kaysani, I’m a friend of Sebastien le Livre, we work at the University of Amsterdam together. He sent me to inquire about the sword you spoke of.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you also in the linguistics department?” Professor di Genova asked, and his eyes narrowed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, I’m a professor of history and archaeology. I also-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry you came all this way. Yusuf, was it? I wish Sebastien had asked me before sending you here, but I don’t think you can help me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hold on-” Joe started as Professor di Genova motioned toward the door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sure someone in the history department would be happy to answer any questions you have, but I’m really rather busy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Joe struggled to squeeze out of the chair, but didn’t head for the door. Instead he stood facing the professor with the chair between them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait- I,” Joe laughed nervously and removed his hat, “I think you may have found a sword I’ve been searching for all my life, I promise you I can help you with the translations.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I seriously doubt it. This sword has been on the desks of no less than thirteen of the top names in ancient linguistics in Italy and Spain over the last year”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And no one has been able to translate the Latin on the blade?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They’ve been able to translate it. We know what it says, it just-” Professor di Genova shook his head and put his hands in front of himself as if to calm Joe, or stop him from talking, “No- I don’t have time for this, I really think you should leave.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The professor pushed the chair under the desk and took a step toward Joe, who despite himself took a step backward.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright so you’ve translated from Latin to Italian or English, correct? That’s your problem. The inscription wasn’t originally written in Latin.” Joe stumbled over a pile of books as he backed up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know how to put this another way-” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, please.” Joe knew he sounded desperate, and he was. He was not above begging. “If this is the sword I think it is, then inscription is likely a poem originally composed in Arabic-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve really heard enough.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“-and was probably poorly translated into Latin by whoever made the sword. Whether because the smith did not speak Arabic, or at least spoke it very poorly, or simply because they didn’t want to go through the trouble of making the inscription in Arabic script, I’m not sure.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mr. al-Kaysani?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Doctor,” Joe answered automatically.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dr. al-Kaysani. I’ve heard of you. And if you think I’ll let a disgraced historian who would rather chase fairytales his parents told him than look at the facts in front of him, you are sorely mistaken. Now I must insist you leave.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Professor di Genova reached around Joe, pulled the door open and practically pushed him out into the hallway. Joe stared back at him in shock, he expected other archaeologists -rivals- to use his family's history against him, but this stranger? It was uncalled for.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry but you should go.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But-” Joe started to yell but the door slammed in his face. “Asshole.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>---</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Joe paced in his hotel room, trying in vain to come up with yet another plan to get access to the sword. After his </span>
  <em>
    <span>disagreement </span>
  </em>
  <span>with Nicolò, Joe had spent two days trying to get access to the sword. He had been denied his requests to see it by an archivist who said he needed to get permission from someone higher up, and then the Dean of the history department because he had also heard of Joe’s unfortunate reputation. Joe was running out of options, and he couldn’t leave without at least seeing the sword.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Joe knew that in all likelihood it was another dead end. In the grand scheme of the world Tunis wasn’t far from Italy and the sword was probably just one that had been picked up by a traveling merchant and brought back for personal use.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But the markings- God, if Joe could look at them for a moment, if he could just copy them down and so he could study them at home he would be happy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Why did Professor di Genova have to be such an-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Unimaginable asshole,” Joe said under his breath.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Joe was roused from his pacing by three quick knocks on his hotel room door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He opened the door and found the last person he expected, Professor di Genova looking somehow more disheveled than when he had kicked Joe out of his office. His hair was severely rumpled and tangled in places. He had dark circles under his eyes. Joe wondered if he had even slept, but then the man was pushing past him into his hotel room.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure, come right on,” Joe said, not even bothering to hide the sarcasm in his voice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You are infuriating!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Professor di Gen-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nicolò, please.” He waved his hand dismissively in front of his face</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright, Nicolò then. I’m not sure-” Joe started before getting cut off again. He crossed his arms and cocked an eyebrow as Nicolò continued to talk.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I tried not to think about you- or your theory. I really did,” Nicolò said. He sat down on a chair in the corner of Joe’s room with a heavy sigh. “But you must have really pissed me off because I couldn’t. I thought </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’ll try translating it to Arbic just to prove him wrong, </span>
  </em>
  <span>and the translation suddenly started making more sense. It does seem to read more like a poem in Arabic.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nicolò grabbed at his face with his hand, then pulled it back and looked at it in bewilderment. It was only then that Joe realized Nicolò was missing his glasses, and he suspected he was coming to the same conclusion. After a moment of staring at his empty hand Nicolò continued.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So I went to the library, and started looking into your theory. I’m not sure why but we have a copy of your book. Sorry -that was rude- I haven’t slept- What day is it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tuesday.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I haven’t slept in two days- give or take a few hours. What was I saying?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My book.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes! I found a copy of your book and I started reading it- You’re a brilliant writer, by the way.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Th- thank you? Nicolò, I’m not-” Joe started. He was having trouble keeping up with the speed at which Nicolò was talking.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I read up on your supposed code and I think you’re right. Dr. al-Kaysani, I think I found something.”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>My tumblr: Scimitar-and-Longsword<br/>Beta read by: Isa/YogurtForDinner<br/>Cover art by: <a href="https://ashleyrguillory.tumblr.com/post/633916430559100928/so-scimitar-and-longsword-mentioned-she-was">Ashley Guillory</a></p></blockquote></div></div>
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